Hoshor Plains Looking for life

Air seemed to tighten around the assailant, thicken like a brewing storm. One-sidedly virulent; noxious.

Distantly, he recalled – cocoa stained crimson, rust seething into slavering jowls, bloody deluge upon his tongue. The caterwauls, tormented flailing as he snatched the very air from her lungs, and cast her body into the inimical embrace of winter’s tears. A little bird, prey to the stroke of nature’s cruelty. Perhaps he’d played his part in her demise, but it was irrelevant. A dismal fraction of the past, a disregarded chapter in some bygone story; it appeared there’d been a reader after all.

The russet man, swathed in his embers of ferity, was restless. He bristled like an unbroken flame, barely contained beneath the brindle’s behest, and words fired incessantly from an aerated throat. He could hardly contain himself. Aries regarded him with a coldly impassive stare, born of serrated ice, bearing some dry imitation of pity. False compassion; he did not rue upon former doings. There were many things he’d done in his time, remorse was wasted.

"I’ll fucking kill you," came the agouti’s plight, and Aries inclined his chin in a mirage of contemplation, gaze darkening with a shadow of malevolent intrigue. We’ll see.

"Hm," the star-born derided once more, revolving back to Donovan, "This is beginning to feel more like an interrogation." With a tongue heavy as steel, hoarse as a dragon’s breath he gave his cynical musing, visage set firmly into solemnity despite the implication of humour in his words – a title was nothing without proof of his competency. "Aries, should it concern you so."